


Til My Heart Stops

by Coramis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Castiel (Supernatural), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Eventual Smut, Feels, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Romance, Sad Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coramis/pseuds/Coramis
Summary: A new collab story from Coramis of AO3/Wattpad and Tomoe2 from Fanfiction.net.When Sam leaves a message for Dean about werewolves in the Ozark Mountains, Dean rushes to his brother's side. Castiel comes along for the ride, hoping to be of some assistance to the Winchesters. Getting to the cabin was easy, but there is no Sam. Now, it's too late to leave and a snowstorm traps Dean and Castiel alone in the cabin. Struggling with the close quarters, and their own growing feelings, the two men have a long, hard night ahead of them.Find Tomoe2's work at https://www.fanfiction.net/u/316809/
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Everyone! New, and very short, story! When I was living overseas, I met Tomoe and they loved Supernatural as much as I did! We started talking about the show, which led to a discussion about fanfic. I had just finished writing my first two stories and they suggested we write one together. This is the work from that collaboration. I really hope you like it, and if you want more of Tomoe2, look in the summary for the link to them!

“Hey Dean, I’m up in the Ozarks. I was trailing that werewolf, and I’m holed in some cabin. I’m really gonna need your help on this one, I think. Call me when you get this, and I’ve sent the directions through the maps app,” Dean hangs up the phone, trying to call Sam’s phone again, but he doesn’t answer. “Damnit, Sammy. Where the hell are you?” He throws the Impala into park, looking at the cabin in front of them. Snow is softly falling, covering the hood of the car. Turning to Castiel, he cocks a brow, “You ready, amigo?”

Castiel ignores Dean and gets out of the car, slamming the door. Hard. He’s still upset at the man and only agreed to join him on this rescue mission because Sam might be in danger. Dean tried to make light conversation but gave up after the first hour. Yet the angel’s mood is as foul, if not fouler, as when they left the bunker. He looks up at the cabin in the rapidly dimming light of the late afternoon: no lights on, no smoke coming out of the chimney. But most importantly, no fresh footsteps in the snow. If Sam was here, he left a while ago.

“Come on, Cas. Don’t be like that,” Dean grumbles at the angel, “and don’t slam the door!!!! Baby is fragile!” Dean moves around to the passenger side, “It’s okay, he didn’t mean it,” Dean coddles the car, wiping the side panel. Standing straight, Dean also surveys the surroundings. “Hey, about how long do you think Sam’s been gone?” Dean moves to Castiel’s side, trying to look through the windows from their current position near the car. 

Castiel sighs. The silent treatment has its limit, and the quicker they can get this over with, the quicker they can be back home. He crouches down to get a closer look at the snow. Flurries land on his dark hair.  
“It’s been snowing since noon, and I can’t see any partially covered footsteps. I’d say since morning. We should check inside.”  
Castiel gestures at the cabin with his chin. Yet, he doesn’t move. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but it’s worth a try. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. The energy slowly builds up. He feels it tangling all over his vessel. This used to take mere seconds. He chases the thought away, lest he loses focus. Of their own volition, his eyes snap open, burning cold with blue light. A wave of energy is sent across the land. He senses a few deers in a clearing, an owl perched in an ancient tree, a few hares scurry as they sense his probe. He closes his eyes. This forest is full of life, but he can’t feel Sam.

Dean shivers next to Castiel, not paying attention to what the angel is doing, as typical. “Damn, it’s getting colder,” Dean says absently. It doesn’t click in this mind that the shiver he felt was Castiel’s power and not mother nature. He wanders up to the cabin door, knocking hard. “Sammy, I’m coming in. I hope you’re decent,” Dean turns the knob, swinging the door open wide. Stepping over the threshold, he takes a wary look around the tiny cabin. “Hey, Cas, you might want to take a look yourself and see what you can make of things.” He calls over his shoulder to the angel standing at the car.

Castiel climbs the stairs and dusts his shoulders; he looks at the sky. This is going to be a bad one. Hopefully, Sam is in a warm place. He walks past Dean and gives the cabin a cursory look. No signs of a fight. A blanket is neatly folded on the couch. Knowing the younger Winchester, he could have slept here and tidied up everything.  
“Check the loft. I’ll go back outside and circle the cabin, just in case.”

“Okay,” Dean heads deeper into the cabin. “Hey, Boyyo! Where are you?” Dean calls out for Sam, still not hearing any kind of rustling. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, his head peeking over the stairs, but no one is there. Dean climbs back down, hanging out on the main floor, waiting on Castiel to finish his sweep of the area. 

Castiel steps outside and is met by a gust of cold wind. He blinks the flurries away and starts walking around the cabin. His feet quickly sink deep, his shoes filling with snow. He ignores the discomfort and turns the corner. The snowdrift is even higher, he trudges on. By the time he gets to the back of the cabin, the wind is howling and the snow blinding. The chances of finding anything in this weather are slim. He decided to head back.

Dean moves to the fireplace, putting his hand over the cold logs. “Dammit, Sammy,” feeling the cold through his coat, Dean tosses some kindling on top and lights it with his lighter. The fire catches, and soon the logs are alight. “A little comfort doesn’t seem so bad right now. I’m sure Sam will be back soon,” he says to no one. Standing up straight, he takes in the little cabin, hoping there is some food, as his stomach starts to make noises of protest.

The door swings open and bangs against the wall caught in the raging wind. Castiel grabs the cold metal knob and fights against nature to pull the door closed. When he finally manages, the snow has drifted three feet in the cabin. It slowly starts to melt. He takes his trenchcoat off and hangs it on a nearby hook, adding to the floor’s wet mess.

Dean jumps as the door slams open, “Jesus Cas! Maybe a little warning next time?” He stares at the angel by the door. “Did you find anything?” Dean asks, digging around in the cupboards and finding them to be rather stocked. “Always leave it to Sammy to be prepared,” Dean says to himself in a low voice. He grabs a couple of cans of vegetables and raids the fridge for more goods. 

“I couldn’t see anything. It’s a whiteout out there.”  
He walks up to the couch and plops down on it. He leans forward with a sigh and covers his face with his hands for a second. He throws a sidelong glance at Dean rummaging through the cupboard.  
“Check if there is kale in the fridge; a sure proof your brother was here,” he says. He means it as a joke with there is no mirth in his voice.  
He bends down and starts unlacing his shoes. His feet are as cold as ice.

Finding a bunch of healthy food and scoring on a pack of bacon, Dean smiles to himself. “There is a lot of health food here. Also, something that looks like lettuce. We have bacon, though,” Dean says merrily. The words’ whiteout’ finally dawn on him. “Wait, did you say whiteout? We have to find Sammy, I don’t have time for t. I,” he finishes, extremely agitated. 

Castiel gives Dean a look and shakes his head. He almost told Dean he has scanned the area. He almost forgot he was angry. He looks back down at his shoes and tries to untie a particularly tight knot made worse by the moisture.  
“Be my guest. You won’t go far.”

Dean puts the bacon back into the fridge, stomping over to the door. Throwing it wide, he’s almost bowled over by the strong winds and swirling snow. He struggles to shut the door again, “Well, I’m not going out there,” he proclaims. “What are we going to do now, Cas?” He turns his gaze to the moody angel on the couch. Watching him still have problems with his shoes, Dean wanders over to his side. “Can I help you?” He offers.

Castiel lifts his head quickly, banging it against Dean’s.  
“Sorry!” Instinctively, he reaches out to rub the man’s forehead.

“Ow, are you alright, Cas?” Dean asks quickly, standing still, waiting for Castiel’s touch, holding his breath.

Castiel hesitates a split-second. The moment ruined, he lowers his hand back down. He feels a pang of sadness amidst the anger.  
“I’ll figure it out. Go back to your food.”

Dean kneels next to Castiel, “Hey, buddy, what did I do wrong? You’ve been in a horrible mood since we left,” he searches the angel’s face for some answers. 

Castiel sighs, his anger suddenly coming back with a vengeance. What did he do? For Chuck’s sake! How can he not know? He pinches his lips. The man is obviously making an effort.   
“I..”  
Torn between giving in and holding on, the angel just focuses on his shoes anew.

Sighing, Dean stands up, looking down at Castiel. He places his hand on the angel’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I’m here if you want to talk, Cas. I’m always here for you,” he smiles at him, the corners of Dean’s eyes tight with stress. Turning away to let the angel screw with his shoes, he goes back to the kitchen to get some food to eat. 

As Dean goes back to the kitchen, the angel finally gets his shoes untied. He takes them off and moves on to his socks. As he pulls, the right one tears.  
“Goddammit,” he mumbles.  
Once off, he throws the lot as far as he can. He cradles his knees to his chest, facing the fire, his back to Dean. He can hear him rummaging over the sound of the crackling fire. He looks around. The place isn’t exactly modern, but it’s cozy. It could actually be nice in other circumstances… He shakes his head, not willing to let his mind wander. He needs to start a dialogue. His logical angel self knows that, but his more human side wants to simmer in anger and self-righteousness. He clears his throat.  
“I… I scanned the area while we were out there. Sam wasn’t within a five-mile radius of this place.”

“Five miles, huh? Jeeze, Cas, you’re Sammy radar is pretty amazing,” Dean compliments the angel, all the while banging a couple of pans around on the electric stove. He cracks open the canned vegetables, dumping them in the cookware. Dean goes to another cupboard, finding some tomato soup, and opens the can, pouring it in. Stirring vigorously, he hums ‘You Really Got Me’ by Van Halen while he cooks.

Castiel stares at the fire for a while, Dean’s humming and clanking fading out as he focuses. Ever since he got his grace back, his powers have returned. He has taken so much damage that he sometimes feels like a car fixed after a crash; the body looks like new, but the engine won’t ever truly perform as it used to. His brow furrows. Has Dean noticed? Is this why...  
Before he can finish his thought, the power goes out.


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, what the hell?” Dean gripes, looking at the food on the stove. Putting a finger in, the temperature a little warm, but edible. “I really hope the power comes back on, or we’re going to have to snuggle for warmth, Cas,” he smiles. Walking around the couch, Dean hands the angel a bowl of tomato vegetable soup. “Are you hungry?” Sitting next to Castiel on the sofa, he takes a moment to see that Castiel is looking a little rough around the edges. Dean wants to help him, but with the man’s mood, Dean knows that there isn’t much he can do until Castiel wants to let him in.

Castiel stirs the soup with his spoon. He goes for a bite, thinks better of it, and puts the bowl on the nearby table. He gets up, looking for his shoes.

“These places usually have generators. I will go check.”

Dean stands, putting his soup on the table. He places his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, pushing him back down onto the couch. “Oh no, you don’t. I want you to sit here and relax by the fire. You’ve done enough today with all the angel powers and whatnot. I’ll go look for the generator. It’s probably out behind the cabin, you think?” Dean grins, looking from Castiel to the window where the snow is still blowing furiously. 

The heat of Dean’s hands lingers on Castiel’s shoulders. He looks up at the man, a mix of emotions heavy in the pit of his stomach. 

“Why are you being like this?” he asked, almost a whisper.

Dean’s green eyes flicker with an unidentified emotion. “Like what, Cas. Are you okay?” His hands sliding from Castiel’s shoulders and down his arms as he crouches in front of the tired-looking angel. “I know it’s been rough for you lately. You just got everything back, and I cannot imagine how difficult all of this has been, but I want you to know that _I_ am here for you, Cas. Anytime you need me and for anything,” his voice cracks at the last part.

Dean’s hand on his arm burns like a brand. He can feel his eyes searching his as if hoping for an answer. Unable to bear it anymore, Castiel abruptly gets up and walks to the fireplace. He clenches his fist.

“Why are you being so nice now?”

Dean stands, sighing. “When have I ever been mean to you, Cas?” He turns, looking at the angel in front of the fireplace. “You know, you, of all the people in the world, make me wish I could read minds. I would be all over yours, all the time, learning everything about you,” he chuckles to himself, softly. 

“You think it’s funny?” Spits Castiel, his silhouette dark against the flames. “When have you ever been mean to me? I don’t know, Dean, maybe for the last few months as you did your best to keep me off all the cases! Even the ones I had found! I got my grace back, I’m not dying!”

He walks the few steps that separate him from Dean, a faint blue glow building up in his eyes.

“I’m an angel of the Lord. I have lived eons before you came along, and I will live long after your bones have turned to dust. What makes you think I can’t handle a few cases?”

Dean’s eyes grow wide, and he can feel his blood pressure rise, a need to fight back itching in his brain. “You know why I didn’t let you on the cases, Cas? Because I almost _lost_ you! Okay!? We almost lost you, and no one wants that. I know you’re an angel of the Lord, the most badass one I know. It doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to protect you.” The words are out faster than he can stop them, and Dean just stares at Castiel.

Castiel wavers imperceptibly at the other man’s genuine concern then pushes on.

“That girl in Colorado. I found that case! I could have helped! Had you had put your feelings aside, I might have been able to save her. She might still be alive!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Confusion plain on Dean’s face. “We can’t feel responsible for every person we lose, Cas. You’ll drive yourself mad if you do that,” Dean walks around the table, attempting to get close to the distraught angel. “Cas, please…” he leaves the plea hanging in the air.

Suddenly, just like that, the fight has gone out of Castiel. His shoulders slump, and he hangs his head. He looks at his bare feet on the frayed rug.

“I...” he sighs. “I need to feel useful.”

He looks up at Dean.

“What I said in that hotel room... I meant it.”

“Cas, you have always been useful. Just because you don’t go out on a job doesn’t mean that you’re not playing a part. Being someone for me to return to. Knowing you’re safe and that you support what we do. That is more useful to me than putting your life on the line for this bullshit,” Dean searches the angel’s face, hoping for some signal that he understands what Dean is trying to say.

Castiel opens his mouth to talk, then closes it, biting the lower lip. He looks away for a moment, pain on his face. He takes a deep breath and stares into Dean’s inquisitive green eyes. The man is close. So close he can smell him, since the heat that radiates from his body.

“Promise me. Promise me you will take me along again. I will go mad if I have to stay alone in the bunker.” His voice cracks.

Patting Castiel on the side of his arm, Dean smiles. “Yes, Cas. I promise that I’ll take you along again. Hell, you can even ride shotgun. Sam will have to deal with the backseat. Now, finish your soup, I’ll be back in a moment, and hopefully, we’ll have power.” Dean zips his coat up, opening the cabin door quickly, and disappears out into the storm. 

Castiel watches Dean disappear outside. He stands still for a moment, listening to the wind howling and the wood crackling in the fireplace. He feels empty. These worries have been eating at him for so long that he can’t let them go. The voice of doubt in his mind tells him that Dean only said what he did to placate him, to get rid of him. Castiel shakes his head, but the thought holds on. _How many times has he betrayed you?_

“As many times as I have,” he answers out loud.

He puts a few more logs on the fire and sits down on the couch. He rests his elbows on his knees and his face on his open hands.

Castiel loses a sense of time for a moment. When he looks up again, twenty minutes have gone by. He gets up.

“Dean?”

He closes his eyes and tries to scan the area, but he is overcome by dizziness instead of the usual hum. He leans against one of the wooden posts supporting the loft. It seems as though the floor is caving under his feet. The walls warp around him. He shuts his eyes tight, riding the storm. He groans. 

When he opens his eyes anew, the room is as it was. He takes a tentative step. Still wobbly, but it will have to do. He scans the room for his socks but can’t find them. He can do without. He slides his feet in his cold, wet shoes, throws his jacket on, and steps into the storm.

The wind bites his face, attacking him with what feels more like ice than snow.

“DEAN!”

He walks down the steps, misses one, and stumbles forward. He lands on his hands and knees in a powdery drift. He staggers back up.

“DEAN!!!!”

He looks around but the visibility null. He can’t even see the Impala, and he knows it’s mere feet away. He clumsily makes his way to the side of the cabin, all the while calling for Dean.

“Hey, hey, Cas,” Dean grips up the angel. “I’m here,” Dean’s covered head to toe in snow, he takes Castiel’s arm, throwing it over his shoulder. “What made you come out here? It was better inside,” Dean attempts to bring the almost frozen angel back inside of the cabin. 

Castiel leans on Dean as they fight against the storm. “You were gone for too long,” he says. 

He stumbles, almost taking both of them down this time.

“It’s okay, buddy. It took me some time to fight through the snow. It’s really coming down out here,” Dean catches the both of them, so they don’t go tumbling into the snow. “I got ya. Come on, let’s get inside and dry,” Dean pulls the angel up straight, helping him up the porch and into the cabin. Once inside, Dean smiles, seeing the electricity back on. “All that work was not wasted. So, do you think they have a shower? You can go first, faster than toweling off, I think,” Dean offers, removing his coat and setting it on the hanger by the door.

Castiel shivers in his wet clothes. As he didn’t bother to button up his trench coat, he’s now soaked all the way down to his shirt. Actually, he’s pretty confident his underwear is wet, too. He hangs the coat on a hook by the door and crouches to take off his shoes again as a puddle of melted snow slowly expands around him. He can’t feel his feet. His numb fingers refuse to obey him, and he’s doing an even worse job than early. He curses in Enochian between his chattering teeth.

“Cas, here,” Dean kneels down on the ground, pulling Castiel’s fingers aside. He unknots the shoes quickly. “Lean against the door,” Dean lightly commands of the angel, removing one shoe then the other. From his knees, he looks up at Cas from underneath his lashes. “Is that better, Cas? You really need to get out of those clothes and into a hot shower. Can you manage that, or should I help you too?” Dean teases with a wink.

Castiel ignores the joke. Now seated on the ground, Cas pulls in his knees to his chest, with his back to the door, and puts his clammy, cold feet on the wet floor. Using the doorknob, he hoists himself back up and lets out a cry. His feet feel like pins and needles. He hurries to the closest kitchen chair and plops down. Rivulets of melted snow flow from his hair to the back of his neck. He shivers.

“I should probably wait. You go ahead.”

“I’ll get it ready for you, but I am not going first. You’re worse off than me,” Dean disappears into the bathroom. The sound of water fills the small space. He comes back out with a towel, coming up to stand behind the sitting Castiel. He puts the towel to the angel’s hair, massaging his hair and scalp. “Here, this should help a little bit.” Dean’s fingers are gentle but firm, trying to get as much water out of 

Castiel’s hair before he gets in the hot shower. 

Castiel closes his eyes as Dean dries his hair with the towel. It feels good. He realizes that he hasn’t had much physical contact recently aside from the usual pat on the arm or squeezing of the shoulder. Suddenly, he feels really vulnerable, as if the facade he’s been putting up for months is mere seconds from crumbling.

“I can take it from here,” he says to mask his emotions.

As he reaches from the towel, his hand lands on Dean’s. It’s surprisingly warm. He lingers a short moment before taking over the task.

Dean touches the angel’s fingers with his own as he lets him dry his own hair. “Okay, Cas,” Dean walks over to the fire, stripping off his wet shirt, hanging it on the mantel. He puts his hands out to the fire then bends down to remove his boots and socks, also hanging his socks up. Dean stands in front of the fire, down to his wet jeans, his back to the angel. He continues to rub his hands together, getting them warmer. Enjoying the heat of the fire, he begins to hum ‘Stairway to Heaven’. 

Castiel watches Dean as he undresses. Dean’s muscles ripple on his back as he lifts his arms to remove his shirt. As the man stands there, warming by the fire, Castiel feels an intense longing. An image of his arms encircling the man from the back flashes in his mind. He tries to push it aside.

“Is it a bath or a shower?” he asks as he stands up.

Dean turns to Castiel. “There is a tub if you want to take a bath,” he grins wide at the angel, unable to help himself. Castiel looks disheveled, and his hair is all over the place after using the towel. The look in Dean’s eyes softens. He wants to do whatever he can to comfort the angel, as he has always provided for Dean. “Hey, Cas. If you need me to wash your back, let me know.” 

Castiel stares at Dean, his heart beating hard in his chest. Is he serious?

“Is something wrong, Cas?” He notices the angel staring hard at him. Dean starts to feel a little self-conscious and crosses his arms across his chest, his muscles flexing and twitching slightly, his body painted by the soft glow of the fire behind him.

Castiel clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck.

“Nothing. I... ahem. I’ll take a shower now.”

The angel awkwardly walks to the bathroom and closes the door. He leans against it, closes his eyes. The image of Dean’s naked torso flashes in front of his eyes. It’s not like he’s never seen the man naked before, but this time, it felt different. It stirred something in him. Castiel sighs; he can address this later. His clothes are sticking to his skin, and he’s shivering again. He turns on the tap and starts undressing. 

Dean turns back to the fire, smiling. He shakes his head, laughing to himself softly. “Sometimes he’s too easy. Too bad he didn’t take me up on the offer. I think it could have been fun,” Dean talks to the fire. Feeling a little bit warmer, he listens as the water begins to run. Figuring it to be safe for a little while, he strips down to his boxers, hoping they’ll dry before Castiel returns. 

The water of the shower is hot, and the air soon fills with steam. For a dingy cabin in the middle of the woods, the pressure isn’t bad. Castiel stoops a little to put his head under the stream, leaning on the wall in front of him with his hands. He tries to clear his mind, to focus on the task at hand, but his thoughts keep taking him back to Dean. Forcing himself of his reverie, he looks for soap or shampoo but finds none. He shrugs and turns the water off. As soon as he opens the curtain, goosebumps form on his body. He looks around. No towel. Dean must have given him the only one earlier. He eyes his wet clothes bunched in an unappealing pile on the floor. Stepping out of the tub, Castiel tries to shake the water off as much as possible. He then gets close to the door and calls out.

“Dean?”

He waits. No answer. He tries again.

“Dean?”

Still nothing. Castiel looks around again, hoping he missed a nook or cranny, but this place is barely big enough for the toilet and the sink. He cracks open the door.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?” There is some rustling in the room as Dean struggles to get his pants back on. A couple soft cus words are muttered, then an ouch when Dean smacks his leg on the table near the couch in his haste to get to Castiel. Dean comes running over to the door, pulling it back. He stops, blinking his eyes at a very naked Castiel. Dean’s mouth gapes open, and he coughs. “Did you need that back scrub?” He bites his lip, trying really hard to just maintain eye contact and not let his gaze drift to the angel’s softly chiseled form.

Castiel is abruptly pulled forward as the door suddenly opens. He stumbles to find himself face to face with Dean. He instinctively hides his genitals with his hands. He can feel his cheek and ears burn red.

“There are no towels,” he blurts out.

Dean can’t help but chuckle a little, turning away from the cute, embarrassed angel. Grabbing the slightly damp towel off the chair, he tosses it to him from the table, grinning wide, his tongue running across his teeth. 

Castiel drops the towel, scrambling to pick it up from the floor, then all but runs back to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. What is it with this place? Is this a setup? Did Sam and Dean plan this for some twisted reason? Castiel takes a deep breath. He needs to calm down. He dries his hair quickly and wraps the towel around his waist. He picks up his clothes and steps out into the living room again.

“There should be hot water left,” he says, hoping to sound normal.

“That’s really kind of you, Cas. How are you feeling? Warmer?” Dean grins a bit, “Sorry about the towel, aren’t angels supposed to have better reflexes?” Dean shrugs, looking down at the towel. “You done with that?” he asks, nodding to the towel around Castiel’s waist. He clicks his tongue, winking.

“Dean. I have no other clothes. I need this towel,” he says, seriously.

Dean’s smile falters around the edges, “I know, Cas. I was just playin’ with you. I’ll go find another towel. Stay by the fire where it’s warm. I don’t know if you can catch a cold again, but let’s not test it,” Dean says over his shoulder as he takes the steps to the loft. Finding a closet, he opens the doors, finding some more towels inside and a large blanket. “Perfect,” Dean whispers to himself. Coming back down the stairs, he crosses the room, placing the large, warm blanket around Castiel’s shoulders. He wraps the material around Castiel, his arms wrapping around the other man’s form from behind. The front of Dean pressing fully against the back of Castiel for a moment. “This should keep you warm,” Dean says, close to Castiel’s ear. He walks away abruptly, the towel hanging over one of his shoulders. “I’ll be out in a moment,” Dean calls out, disappearing behind the bathroom door, shutting it behind him.

Castiel finds himself reaching for Dean’s arms only too late. He grasps the blanket before it slips off his shoulders. The fire is burning strong in the hearth, yet it can’t compare to the heat of Dean’s body against his. He swears under his breath, not knowing what he wants. _No. I know what I want_ , he realizes with sudden clarity. He pulls the blanket tighter around him, the fabric a surrogate for Dean’s touch. With his new resolve, he hangs his clothes to dry and sits in front of the fire, hoping the Winchester will not tarry and join him sooner rather than later. 

Dean snoops around the bathroom, finding some of Sammy’s body wash and shampoo under the sink. “Bingo,” he exclaims. Dean turns on the shower, testing the water. He sets it to warm, not hot, hoping to have time to wash up. Stepping into the water, Dean groans a bit as the warmth chases away the cold from the snow. He quickly washes up his hair, the water cleaning away the shampoo. Next, he lathers up his body with the soap. His mind wanders a bit to the angel out in the other room. Using the ability to talk to Castiel through prayer, he thinks to the angel. “Hey, you want to help me wash my back? I think there is a place I can’t reach,” he sighs, knowing Castiel would never take him up on it, but there was always wishful thinking.

Castiel jumps when the prayer reaches him. 

“Really Dean, you probably shouldn’t use this channel for requests like this.”

He can’t help but chuckle at how silly what he just said is. He’s heard enough prayers to know that people ask for way crazier stuff. He drops the blanket and gets up, making his way to the bathroom. He knocks.

“I’m coming in.”

Without waiting for an answer, he walks in and closes the door behind him.

Dean shuffles in the shower, almost slipping as Castiel enters. “Dammit, Cas, you actually came,” his voice full of panic and alarm, with a hint of something else. “I’m naked behind this curtain,” he says, applying the sound ‘ole Winchester logic. “I don’t think you really want to see that. Plus, I don’t have a way to cover myself… so you’ve got me in a bit of a precarious situation,” Dean continues to stammer. He’s not sure if he’s stalling for time or trying to get the angel to go away. He never would have thought, in all these years, his real prayer would be answered. 

Castiel stands on the small rug, his toes clenching and unclenching the threadbare fabric as Dean prattles on. He feels his resolve wavering. What if Dean really just means this as a joke, and he makes things weird between the two of them.

“You saw me naked. It’s only fair that I do, too,” Castiel says to buy himself some time.

Yet as he does, he feels a little surge of courage. Quickly, before logic comes back to make him change his mind, he drops the towel, pushes the shower curtain, and steps in the tub.

“Oh Cas,” Dean breathes the words, his voice breaking and full of some rich emotion. Dean dares not to turn around, afraid that all of this is just a dream. Biting his lip, he reaches for the bottle of soap, passing it back over his shoulder, waiting for it to be just his imagination being cruel. “If you could be so kind,” Dean says, his heart hammering in his chest, as he closes his eyes.

Castiel’s hand shakes as he grabs the bottle, making sure not to drop anything this time. Goosebumps are forming on his body, and he would be hard-pressed to say if it’s from the cold or the exhilaration of this moment. He gives the bottle a sharp shake. The cap flips open with a loud snap. The cool, pinkish body gel pools in his upturned palm, then he thumps Dean’s shoulder with the bottle, passing it back. 

Dean’s entire body shudders as Castiel takes the soap. He stands in anticipation listening to the sounds behind him, his ears straining. He holds his breath then flinches as the angel passes back the soap. Taking it back, “Thanks,” Dean mumbles, feeling unsure of himself.

Castiel rubs his hands together to warm up the gel. Then he goes for it. Castiel starts which Dean’s shoulder blades, gingerly at first. He massages the soap on the man’s muscles with the tip of his fingers, then his fingers, then his entire palms.

The press of Castiel’s hands on his body almost completely undo him where he stands. Dean cannot stifle the moan that escapes his lips when Castiel’s hands are entirely on his body. “Damn, that’s good,” he says aloud, then groans, realizing he just said that out loud.

Castiel can’t help but smile at Dean’s reaction. For the first time in months, he finally feels like he’s in control, and it feels incredible. He lowers his hands to the middle of the man’s back, his hands flat and massaging deep in his muscle. If only because of the logistics of the whole affair, the distance between them closes. He can feel minuscule water droplets land on his face as they rebound from Dean’s body. He lowers his hands to the small of his back. His hands are not washing anymore; they’re caressing. Castiel resists the desire to rub his erection against Dean’s buttcheeks. Some propriety is required of the washerman, after all. Except maybe too much propriety is overrated. His hands move to Dean’s waist. He leaves them there. No need to rush. This storm is heaven-sent. He leans. His lips are so close to Dean’s nape that he can feel the small hairs standing to attention. His heart is racing. He takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes.

A cell phone starts ringing.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean growls at the sound of the phone. His whole body going rigid. He debates going to get his cellphone or staying in the shower with Castiel, seeing where things end up. In the end, he opts for the phone, regretfully. His hands move to Castiel’s, and he pulls them up to his chest, pulling the man behind him skin close to his body. Dean kisses Castiel’s fingers gently. “Thank you, Cas,” he whispers. Turning off the water, Dean steps out of the shower, throwing Castiel’s discarded towel around his waist, leaving the dry towel for the angel. “I have to get this call, in case it’s Sammy,” Dean’s voice cracks with the weight of his decision and his desire to stay in this moment. He walks through the bathroom door, crossing the room, and answering his phone. “Hello…” the phone crackles and hisses on the other end. “Dean…. Sam…. Where…..” then the call disconnects, the storm interfering with the signal. Dean sighs, looking at the screen, “Sammy?” He runs his hand through his wet hair, looking back at the bathroom, wanting nothing more than to lose himself to the angel’s touch. Dean tosses the phone back onto the table in front of the couch. 

Castel stands under the water for a moment, rinsing off the soap on his chest. The soap from Dean’s back. He resists the urge to touch himself. Now would be inappropriate, especially if the phone call is from Sam. With a sigh, he turns off the water and steps out of the tub. Dean has left him the fresh towel. He smiles as he grabs it and starts drying himself. Castiel then wraps it around his waist and hurries to the living room. As soon as he lays eyes on Dean, he feels near unbearable embarrassment. What has he done? He averts his eyes.

“Who was it?” he asks, his voice wavering.

Dean looks at the half-naked angel, his lust plain on his face. He rubs his face with his hand, then rests it on the back of his neck, looking down at the phone. “Sammy, I think. The call cut out. I think the storm is screwing with the reception,” he sighs, looking a little tired. “I think we are stuck with each other, Cas. We’re gonna have to ride out this storm before we can get back.” He licks his lips, thinking about ways to pass the time, most of them not very wholesome.

“Did you try calling him back?” asks Castiel, picking at lint on the back of the couch. The sudden reality of having to spend the rest of the night alone with Dean fills him with panic. This is not what he had intended. It was just to get back at Dean for all the back rubbing jokes. Or so he tells himself.

“No,” Dean picks up the phone, looking at the reception bars. The phone blinks ‘No Service’. “Looks like it’s useless right now. No service. I couldn’t make a call if I wanted to,” Dean sighs. “Shame we don’t have some Twister or Monopoly, we’d be able to pass the time with those,” Dean walks towards Castiel.

Castiel senses Dean getting closer, and his entire body seizes. He turns and hurriedly walks to the kitchen in what he hopes is a casual way. All the while, his brain is screaming that he’s acting weird.

“Well, at least we have bacon. Should we cook it?” Castiel asks with a forced laugh, still not turning to face Dean.

Dean crowds Castiel in the kitchen. He leans in near Castiel’s ear. “No, I’ll cook it for breakfast in the morning,” Dean says low, backing away, and walks into the bathroom to claim his boxers. He drops the towel, not bothering to close the door, and shimmies them up his hips, slowly, tucking himself inside. Walking back out of the bathroom with his pants, he tests the dampness. “Sorry, Cas, I’m going to be walking around in my skivvies for a bit. My pants are wet and considering just saw my naked ass, I’m sure you don’t mind, do you?” Dean grins a toothy grin, winking at the angel.

Dean’s reference to what happened in the shower sends a rush of blood to his face. 

“It’s ff..fine,” he stutters. 

Castiel leaves the kitchen, climbing the stairs to the loft. Knowing it’s the only place to run from what he initiated, he looks around. A bed, a chair, and a surprisingly expensive-looking antique chest of drawers furnish the small room. He approaches the latter, hoping for something - anything- he could put on. His search yields nothing except a well-worn, too small, t-shirt. He moves to the closet. His rummaging finally pays off as he finds a pair of grey joggers. He slips them on. They’re a bit tight, but it’ll do. He drapes his towel on the back of the chair.

Unable to help himself, Dean calls up to Castiel. “Is that bed big enough for two?!” He smiles to himself. 

Hanging his pants up by the fire. Dean’s thoughts drift to his brother. He prays that Sam is okay, especially since he’s trapped by the storm and can’t get out to help save the day. He looks at his watch, it’s still terribly early. Dean glances up to the loft.

Castiel sits on the bed. It squeaks loudly, but it has a nice give. He needs to calm down, yet he can’t stay here forever. Dean might come upstairs. The thought almost makes him hyperventilate. Castiel gets up. He’s just started his descent when Dean asks him about the bed.

“I don’t sleep, Dean. It’s big enough for you,” he says in a voice that finally doesn’t betray any of the turmoil in his mind. Giving the man a wide berth, he walks to the fireplace. The heat of the fire feels nice on his bare chest.

“Who said anything about sleeping,” Dean teases. He lightly elbows the angel as he joins him near the fire. “Nice pants, Cas. They look good on you,” he smiles, putting his hands out to the fire. “Are you cold? What happened to the blanket I gave you?” Dean looks around the room for it.

Castiel looks around. The blanket is in a heap by the couch.

“It’s behind you, on the floor,” he says, pointing. “I’m not cold, it’s fine.”

As if on cue, goosebumps rise on his arms.

Dean looks at Castiel. “Not cold, my ass,” he reaches for the angel. 

Time seems to slow down as Dean reaches for Castiel. The angel freezes in place.

Dean places his warm hands on Castiel’s arms, slowly rubbing them up and down, trying to warm him up. “Damn, you are cold, Cas.” Dean pulls the angel against him without thinking, his arms encircling Castiel, their chests touching, and his face next to Castiel’s hair. He breathes in the angel’s scent. “You smell so good, like cedar, and mint?” Dean pulls back, peering into those fathomless blue eyes.

Dean’s calloused hands feel good on his skin. Castiel’s heart almost stops when the man pulls him in close. His chest is warm, soft. His breath tickles his ear as he speaks. Dean pulls away slightly yet closes the distance.

“Peppermint,” Castiel whispers.

He closes his eyes, and tentatively moves his head forward. Gingerly, his lips brush against Dean’s. 

“Peppermint,” Dean says against Castiel’s lips, “that’s it.” He presses his lips closer to the angel’s, giving him a full proper kiss.

Castiel presses his lips harder against Dean’s. Desire flares up like burning kindling, threatening to consume him. He snakes his right hand up between their naked chests and cups the man’s jaw, his thumb resting on his cheek, caressing him. He pulls away from the kiss and rests his forehead on Dean’s. His breath is short. 

“Is everything okay, Cas?” Dean looks the angel full in the face, their foreheads still pressed together. He holds onto the man loosely, in case he needs the space. His own breath coming out a little too quick, his chest heaving slightly at the moment they just shared. A moment he’s wanted for what seems like an eternity. 

“This is...” Castiel’s words are breathy. “I...”

He lifts his other hand to Dean’s face, framing it. He pulls him in closer and kisses him slowly, softly. Then, he lowers his hands and embraces Dean, nesting his head in the crook of the man’s neck, his lips almost touching his skin. He takes in Dean’s smell.

“I have basked in the grace of God, Dean. It was my firm belief that nothing in creation could compare to the elation I felt.”

Castiel’s lips part, letting in a sigh, almost a moan.

“Yet this...” He kisses Dean’s neck softly. “This goes beyond...”

Dean lifts his head to give the angel better access. He is careful and slow with his movement, not wanting to break the spell between them. “Cas, I have wanted this since you first came to me. It’s only taken me until now to realize that it wasn’t a want, but a  _ need _ .” Looking up at the ceiling, he breathes the next words softly. “I need you, Cas. I’ll need you forever,” Dean finally admits to himself and to the universe.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers. He lifts his head slightly and kisses the man’s earlobe. “I’ve been waiting for you since time began.”

He moves his head back to face Dean; his entire body is trembling. There are tears in his eyes.

“Cas,” Dean says breathlessly, the idea that an angel was waiting for him derails his train of thought. “Oh, please don’t cry,” Dean runs his hands down the angel’s back, “I’m not deserving enough of your tears.” He continues to caress Castiel’s skin, reveling in the feel of it, the smoothness. He sighs, content in this moment. 

Castiel shakes his head with a smile. Tears roll down his cheek.

“I’m not sad. I... I don’t know what is happening with the waterworks,” Castiel laughs softly. “To be honest, this is all so new.”

He leans in and kisses Dean. What starts as a soft kiss intensifies, a sense of urgency driving the angel. His hands search avidly for the best spot on Dean’s back to pull the man as close as possible. His erection pressed against the man’s body, desire surges. Castiel parts his lips.

Dean tries to read the moment, feeling that Castiel is pliable. Softly, he uses his tongue to part the angel’s lips, allowing him to explore the kiss deeper. He groans at the feeling, so much different than kissing a woman. Dean can feel Castiel at the ready, his manhood pressing against his own, Castiel’s pants and Dean’s boxers the only thing separating them. “Cas, can I touch it?” Dean asks, his face feeling warm. 

Castiel moans as Dean’s tongue enters his mouth. He squeezes the man closer as the kiss deepens. Dean’s groans drive his desire off the charts. He sighs heavily when the kiss is broken, their lips close enough for the world around them to disappear once more. At Dean’s question, he reaches for the man’s hand, gently guiding it.

“Ahem. That’s as much as I can endure. Thank you very much, boys,” a voice says behind them.

Castiel does an about-face, instinctively attempting to drop his angel blade in his hand.

“Hello, Squirrel. Feathers,” says Crowley.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean pulls up close to Castiel’s ear. “You don’t have that kind of angel blade right now, Cas.”

Pulling away from Castiel, Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you doing here, Crowley? Can’t you see that you interrupted a really great team-building moment,” Dean growls, irritated that the moment was ruined. 

Crowley snorts.

“Oh, you built that team all right,” he sneers. “I’ve been waiting for you since time began,” he mocks. “Nice line. Like I’ve never heard it before.” 

Crowley moves over to the couch, sits down, and crosses his legs. He then takes an angel blade out of his jacket’s inside pocket and points it at Dean as he talks.

“You never asked if you could touch _my_ dick, Dean. Should I feel hurt?”

Crowley raises an eyebrow.

Dean narrows his eyes at Castiel, doubt suddenly stabbing him in his heart at Crowley’s comment. He scoffs at the demon. “You were never in my bed, so don’t act like a victim,” Dean growls, turning his anger to the man on the couch. He walks away from the two of them, needing some breathing room. “You didn’t answer my question, Crowley,” Dean calls over his shoulder. 

Castiel’s body tenses. Whatever that look was, it can’t be good. Pain as intense as the desire he felt earlier overcomes him. He resists the urge to walk after Dean.

“Ah yes. What the Hell I am doing here. Well, I could ask you the same question. See, I was summoned by your brother. The location and time were clear, and I’m never late. So you might want to question Sammy dearest,” he says.

“Now come on, Cas,” Crowley says, his eyes still on Dean, “If you keep staring at me like that, you’ll bore a hole in my skull.” He turns to face the angel as he utters the last words.

“Sammy, called you here? What did he want?” Dean starts, “You know what, I’m not sure I want to know. I’m sure it can’t be anything good. It’s just damn unfortunate since he’s out of the office at the moment. Would you like to leave a message and piss off?” Dean says, getting more incensed. 

“I see. I assume it’s fair to assume that Moose didn’t plan for me to walk in on your Brokeback Mountain reenactment.”

Crowley turns to Castiel.

“Too bad that Ledger guy had to die. He was good. Went straight to Heaven, too. Quite a pity. I had great plans for the man.”

Castiel looks utterly confused. Crowley turned back to Dean.

“Now you see, I would be delighted to leave, but as much as it pains me to say it, your brother is not an idiot. I’m willing to bet Hell there is a devil’s trap under this ugly rug.

Castiel moves warily towards the couch and flips part of the carpet over with his foot. Arcane symbols and part of the arc of a red circle are visible. 

“Well, we can take care of that for you, and you can take your slithery ass back to the pits of hell, where you belong.” Dean crosses the room, about to break the trap.

“Please, be my guest,” says Crowley. "I have better things to do than to attend to your brother’s business… wherever he may be,” he adds with a grin. 

A pause.

“You have no idea where he is, don’t you?” His last words are less a question than a statement.

“No, I don’t. Sammy was supposed to be here. He said he needed help on a hunt, but he wouldn’t answer the phone, so we came out here to find out what’s up.” Dean nears Castiel, conflicted emotions raging in his eyes as he throws a look at the angel. He kneels down next to the circle.

Dean’s glance at him hurts like a dagger. Castiel wants to scream. He wants to… He doesn’t know what he wants, but it doesn’t matter. Something has been broken. He knew he should have listened to his apprehension. Castiel pinches his lips. Whatever will happen from here needs to take place after Crowley is gone. There is no need to add fuel to the raging fire.

Crowley stands up, stashes the angel blade away, and straightens his jacket.

“For someone who wants me gone, you sure are taking your time. Need anything?” He smirks.

“If I do this, you leave? Like go, and not come back?” Dean looks up at the demon, his rage simmering close to the surface, knowing one more push will make him snap. He needs Crowley gone, he has questions for the angel, and he intends on getting answers, one way or another.

“I will be gone. Cross my heart,” Crowley says as he makes the gesture on his chest.

He grins.

Dean scrapes away part of the trap, standing quickly; if Crowley acts like the bastard he is and does something stupid. He may be almost naked, but Dean knows he could still kick the demon’s ass. Without realizing it, he places himself between Castiel and Crowley, subconsciously wanting to protect the angel from any kind of danger. “Okay, it’s done, now go! I have some business to attend to.” Dean threatens.

“I love you, too!”

With these words, the king of Hell is gone.

Dean immediately turns on Castiel, his eyes conflicted. “Is it true?!” he crowds the angel in front of him, his hands gripping the sides of Castiel’s arms firmly, fingers biting in.

“Forgot something!” says Crowley, suddenly reappearing.

He drops condoms on the table.

“You don’t want to catch the angel clap.”

He winks, and with that, he is gone again.

Dean drops his head. “Goddamnit,” he shakes the angel in his arms. “Why the hell do all of you have to be such bastards?!” He lets go of Castiel, walking away from him. Moving to the kitchen, he grips the side of the sink, trying to get a reign on his anger. Turning on the water, he cups his hands under and brings his face down, splashing it with the cool water. 

Castiel remains alert as Dean walks to the kitchen in case Crowley decides to reappear. When it’s clear that Crowley won’t, Castiel’s body relaxes. He can feel his heartbeat where Dean grabbed his arms. Castiel hugs himself, massaging the sore spots. He should say something; he knows he should. But what? Crowley’s words have apparently made an impact on Dean. He can’t understand why—the angel shivers.

“It is true?!” Dean asks again, his voice rising. He doesn’t look at the angel, just keeps his gaze in the sink. Dean’s back muscles bulge and flex as he grips the sink. Dean’s breaths come out slightly labored as he continues to stuff his rage back inside of himself.

“Is what true?” asks Castiel, completely lost. Panic edges in his voice.

His body tenses again as his blue eyes search the man’s hunched figure, hoping for an opening, finding none.

“That I’m not the first? Was everything you said to me a lie, Cas?” Dean turns from the sink quickly, stalking the room and standing in front of the angel again. “Was it a game? Did it feel good to touch me? To see what kind of reaction you could get out of me? Fuck, _Castiel_ !” Dean yells in the man’s face. “You don’t know what you do to me, what you _mean_ to ME!” He runs his hands over his face. “How could you do this?” Dean whispers into his hands, choking back another growl.

Castiel instinctively takes a step back as the other man throws his rage at him.

“The first... What do you...? Where did you infer that from?”

He furrows his brow, his mind racing, trying to figure out which of Crowley’s words set off Dean. Suddenly it clicks.

“Like I’ve never heard that before,” Castiel whispers.

“Right, Cas. Is it all coming back to you now?!” Dean crowds in more, not sure if it’s the need to be near the angel or his rage, making it impossible to get away. Dean’s mind and body are so at odds, it begins to muddle his thoughts. 

As Dean’s anger grows, Castiel’s sadness does, too. He looks into the man’s green eyes. 

“I...” Castiel struggles to find the right words. He can’t. “I don’t know what to tell you, Dean. The only person I’ve had sex with is April. And she killed me.”

Castiel takes a deep breath; he wants to look away. He wants to run away. He doesn’t.

“I have been waiting for you since time began. I have always known you would be in my charge. I waited eons. I fought wars, neared death, and the whole while, I prayed that I would live to accomplish my God-given duty. And then you came along.” Castiel smiles, but his eyes are filled with hurt.

“You came along, and you were all kinds of wrong and difficult. And you stabbed me. And you made my task impossible. And eventually, I realized that what my father had entrusted me, what I had waited for eons, should not come to pass. I rebelled. I followed you, and in my folly, I betrayed you. And you forgave me. I made countless mistakes, but you were always there, no matter what.”

Suddenly, as if incensed by his own words, Castiel’s tone gets harsher.

“I have been nothing if not loyal. Yet one word from this hellish fiend, and you turn on me. Is this the extent of your trust in me?”

“I… I…” Dean stammers, caught off guard, but only for a moment as his rage flames more. “I trust you, Cas. Chuck knows I trust you. I just want ....” Dean turns away, a sob breaking from him. “I want you to love me, Cas. Only me,” Dean whispers.

Castiel crosses his arms on his chest. He can feel a dim blue glow in his eyes. His anger bores deep roots in his heart, and he finds himself unfazed by Dean’s sudden declaration.

“I assume Crowley,” Castiel says the name like it has a bad taste, “meant that he’s heard this line or variations of it countless times in Hell. Or maybe from wayward angels. The fact that you chose to understand it as my own utterance is beyond my understanding. How, pray tell, would Crowley even have heard me say this. In what context?”

Castiel walks around Dean to face him.

“You disappoint me, Dean,” he says.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Dean roars, gripping the angel tight, by his arms, once more. “All I know is that I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. If-if my jealousy, that you might have chosen someone before, me _disappoints_ you, then I’m one hell of a disappointment.” Dean searches the angel’s eyes, their faces a breath away.

Castiel gently but firmly takes Dean’s hands off of his arms. 

“You need to calm down.” His voice is even, devoid of emotion.

Castiel slightly pushes Dean away.

“You should go to bed. I will give you some space.”

Castiel saunters to the bathroom and closes the door.

Dean sighs, running his hands through his hair. Was he wrong? Maybe he should have never said anything. What the hell would an angel know about love anyway? They’ve all been bastards in the past, what’s one more to the pile? Still incredibly angry and his heart still stinging from the games Castiel is playing, Dean makes his way up to the loft, daring a glance at the bathroom. Dean lets out a shaky breath, forcing himself to drop the argument when all he wants to do is break down the bathroom door and show the proud angel how much he means to him.

Castiel hears Dean’s footsteps as he goes up the stairs. His hands are gripping the sides of the sink so hard his knuckles are white. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his blue eyes cold. He can’t recall the last time he’s felt so angry. Was Ishim right? Is getting involved with humans to err? Castiel thought his feelings were clear. He opened up to Dean like he never has to anyone, and this is how he’s been repaid. Maybe this is not an avenue worth pursuing.

The porcelain of the sink starts to crack under his hands.

Yet for that split second before Crowley showed up, he experienced bliss as he had never before. As if this had been his true purpose.

Unable to bear his searching eyes anymore, Castiel lets go of the sink with a roar and punches the mirror. Shards of glass rain down as it shatters.

Dean rushes down the stairs hearing the destruction in the bathroom. “CAS!” He yells, ripping the door open. Dean’s mouth drops open at the sight of the shattered shards on the floor. “Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathes. He crosses over the glass, trying to move around it. His anger forgotten, Dean scoops the angel up in his arms, “Here we are.” The room is a little tight, but he can manage to get them out if Castiel doesn’t fight him.

Before Castiel’s hand can heal, Dean storms the room and sweeps him off his feet.

“Dean put me down! You will get glass in your feet!”

“Ask me if I care after I get you out of here,” Dean looks into the angel’s face, concern written all over his own. He backs the two of them out of the bathroom, cringing as he steps on a couple of shards of glass. Dean carries Cas over to the couch, a blood trail on the floor from his cut foot. Dean sits down, placing Cas in his lap. Dean begins to look over the angel for damage. “What happened in there?” He asks softly, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Castiel wiggles off Dean and kneels at his feet. He looks at the sole of one, then the other.

“I punched the mirror. We need to get that out,” Castiel says, in one breath.

Castiel gets to his feet and goes to the kitchen. He rummages in the top drawer and quickly finds pliers, then walks back to Dean and crouches.

“It’s not really clean, but it won’t matter once I heal you. Give me your foot.”

He looks up at Dean.

Dean looks down, lifting his foot. “Why did you punch the mirror? Was it something that I did? God, Cas. I’m so sorry about earlier. I know better than to let Crowley get in my head. I just, what we had… have…” He looks at Cas, hopeful. “I’m not deserving of you… I wish I was, I would give anything, do anything for you,” Dean leaves the words hanging as he watches the angel at his feet. He looks into the man’s eyes, losing himself in the blue gaze of the angel he lives for.

Castiel grabs Dean’s foot and starts his task. There aren’t too many shards, and the wounds are shallow. The strength with which he punched near pulverized the glass leaving only small fragments.

“Why do you normally punch things, Dean?” Castiel asks, his tone harsher than he wants.

The shards removed, he moves on to the other foot.

“Normally because they’re attacking me, Cas,” Dean cocks an eyebrow, trying hard not to grin at his poorly timed joke. He winces as the angel takes the glass out. It doesn’t hurt, but the feeling of something being removed from his skin puts him on edge from the slightly intense feeling.

Castiel pauses at Dean’s joke, then shakes his head. He pulls out the last shard and puts the pliers on the table, then Castiel looks up at the man.

“I will heal you now. It might leave a scar.”

The angel extends his hand, index, and middle finger, pointing. He awaits Dean’s permission.

“Do your worst, Cas,” Dean whispers, waiting for Castiel’s touch. 

Castiel gently touches Dean on the forehead. Focusing his energy, he heals Dean’s wounds. It lasts but a second, then Castiel yanks Dean’s right foot to inspect his work. Barely visible scars remain. He shakes his head and sighs.

“You’ll have small scars. My grace is still settling, I’m sorry.”

He puts Dean’s foot back down, grabs his tools, walks to the kitchen, and proceeds to wash his hands. Where does this go from here, he wonders.

“If they’re from you, I don’t care what kind of scars you leave,” Dean says, following up quickly. “Unless they’re on my heart. Please don’t fuck that up. I don’t think I could live with that,” he looks into the fire, his words soft but loud enough to fill the space, to travel to the angel on the other side of the room.

Castiel can’t help but be piqued. He turns around and leans on the sink, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Dean, I did not play with your heart. You heard something and decided to build your own version of reality around it. And then, when I clarified your misunderstanding, you refused to believe me and attacked me. You don’t need me to play with your heart; you’re doing that on your own.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Dean relents. He stands up, making his way around the couch. Slowly, Dean makes his way back over to Castiel and stands in front of him. He places his hands over Castiel’s where they rest on his legs, threads his fingers between the angel’s. “Can we start over? Preferably at the part where we were confessing our true feelings for each other?” Dean holds his breath, waiting to see what kind of action Castiel will choose. 

Castiel sighs and looks away, conflicted. Parts of him wants this—the warmth of Dean’s fingers on his stirs something in him. Yet, the rational part of his brain is telling him to run. Anxiety sits on his chest like a succubus. He bites his lower lip. To his surprise, tears start running down his cheeks. He frees his hands, takes a few steps, and wipes his face, his back to Dean.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m too confused to think right now.”

“It’s okay, Cas, take as much time as you need,” he runs his hand across Castiel’s back, curious about where the angel keeps his wings. He walks to the fireplace, tossing some logs in, and barely dodges the sparks that shoot out. Moving back to the couch, he takes a seat, resting his legs on the table. 

Castiel turns back to face the kitchen sink and rests his hands on the counter, leaning on them. He can see his distorted reflection in the window, and he looks down. The tears keep flowing, so Castiel rounds his shoulder and hangs his head. He feels so tired. It makes no sense since he doesn’t sleep. Could it be what Gabe used to call “emotional fatigue”? He bites his lower lip but not quickly enough to prevent a sob from escaping him. Castiel takes a deep breath through his mouth and pinches his lips. He wishes he could just disappear somewhere. The cabin suddenly feels claustrophobic; Castiel wipes his face again, angry at himself. This is all a disaster. He sniffles. He’s so tired. Slowly, avoiding all eye contact with Dean, he turns around and lets himself slide to the floor, his back against the cupboard. Castiel grabs a dishtowel hanging on one of the handles and buries his face in it.

“Fuck,” comes his muffled voice from behind the bright checkered fabric.

Dean cringes, listening to Castiel cry. “Hey, I know you don’t sleep, but maybe just laying down could help. I’ll, you know, stay down here and keep the fire going so we don’t get cold. Although, to be honest, there is a lot of room on this couch. If you’d rather not be alone,” Dean’s voice is even, but he tries for a comforting tone, hoping to talk the angel into joining him. Dean knows that he can’t help him unless Castiel wants help, and Dean doesn’t want to further the risk of pushing him away. 

Castiel wipes his face with the towel. He extends his arms, resting them on his knees. He can see Dean’s feet up on the living room table through the space between the legs of the kitchen chairs. Castiel sniffles. Dean’s tone feels distant, but Castiel realizes that this will go nowhere if they both stay their ground.

“Would you sit next to me?” he asks in a brittle voice.

Dean lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding at the sound of Castiel’s request. He immediately gets up from his place on the couch, swiping the blanket and dragging it with him over to his crying angel. “It would be my pleasure, Cas,” Dean sidles up next to the other man, his back to the cabinet, mirroring him. He puts the blanket over the front of both of them. “You can rest now Cas, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” Dean croons.

Castiel wipes his face with the towel again. The blanket feels nice. Dean’s warm shoulder against his feels nicer.

“My head hurts,” he says. “This is not supposed to happen.”

“What’s not supposed to happen?” Dean looks to Castiel, his eyes sad that he’s caused him so much pain. 

“I don’t normally feel pain, human pain. Actually, I didn’t think I was even able to cry. My grace must be still settling.”

Dean wraps his arm around the angel’s shoulders, pulling him against the side of his body. “It’ll be okay Cas, I’ll always love you for who you are,” Dean whispers into the stillness of the cabin, the sound of their breathing and the crackling fire the only things breaking the silence.

Castiel leans in the embrace and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. He smells good. His tears have finally stopped. Castiel drops the kitchen towel and takes the man’s hand in his. He brings it to his lips and rests it there.

“Dean. Do you understand what this means for me?” he asks. He continues without waiting for an answer. 

“Unless I am killed, I will be here until time ends. It means I will see you die. It means I will have to spend an eternity mourning your loss.”

Castiel kisses Dean’s hand softly.

“Yet I will embrace the pain willingly because this time we get together is more important than anything in the world.”

He lifts his head and turns to look at Dean.

“So please, now that you know all this, don’t doubt me.” 

Dean looks at the angel next to him. “I won’t doubt you anymore, Cas, this I can promise you. I’m so sorry I thought for even a second that I meant so little to you,” Dean rests his head back against the cupboard. The noises in the cabin lulling him to sleep. Light snores start coming from Dean, his body relaxed next to Castiel’s, his head falling down onto Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel feels exhausted but has the feeling that this storm has finally passed. Dean’s regular breathing, and slightly unnerving snoring, make him smile. Slowly, making sure not to wake up the Winchester, Castiel gets up. Wrapping the blanket around Dean, he swoops the man up as if he weighs no more than a feather. He takes him upstairs and lays him on the bed, arranging the blanket. Castiel then slips under the comforter and, lying on his back, lets the sound of Dean’s heartbeat lull him into a meditative state.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, I was stalling on this chapter. I wasn't ready to post it yet. I hope you can forgive me. Here is the last chapter, enjoy.

Dean rolls over, flinging his arm to the other side of the bed, surprised that there is a warm body. Opening one eye, he sees Castiel lying next to him. He grins mischievously, pushing his body closer to the angel, digging his morning erection into the side of Castiel’s leg, through the comforter. Rutting himself softly up and down the hardness of the angel’s thigh, breathing harshly into his ear. “Good Morning, Cas,” Dean manages, getting himself more worked up. 

Castiel shifts to his side, readjusting the pillow to see Dean’s face. The room basks in the early morning sun. A ray of sunlight shines softly on the man’s face, defining his long eyelashes. His eyes are full of desire. At the touch of his erection, even through the fabric, Castiel can feel himself harden. Yet, he wants to enjoy the moment for as long as possible. He leans in and kisses Dean on the glabella.

“How does this thing work?” he asks, pointing at Dean’s groin with his eye. “Why do you wake up at the ready like that?” he teases. 

Smiling, Dean steals a kiss on Castiel’s lips as he pulls away. “Well, when I have you laying next to me, how can I not?” Dean teases. “I know you don’t sleep, but you know how sometimes you get hard. That happens to humans when they sleep. It happens a lot when you sleep, actually,” he tries his best to give a suitable answer to the angel. 

“I see,” says Castiel, making a face as if he’s pondering a complex conundrum.

“And if I do this, does it make it better or worse?”

As soon as the words have escaped his lips, he grabs Dean’s ass and pulls him close, grinding his body against his. Simultaneously, he kisses him passionately, parting his lips with his tongue.

Dean groans into the angel’s mouth, his eyes wide for a moment, then flutter closed. His tongue danced with the other man’s. Dean rolls himself on top of Castiel, holding himself up with his arms, but pinning the man’s lower half with his own, their hardened cocks rubbing together between the sheets. “Jesusfuck, Cas,” Dean moans, capturing Castiel’s lips with his own again.

Castiel gasps as Dean mounts him. The more they kiss, the more he wants the man. Castiel props himself on his elbows then gets to a seated position, his back against the headboard. With his hands free, he grabs Dean’s hips and pulls him closer to his groin, his body rising up and down. He moans, reaches for Dean’s lips, and kisses him avidly.

A bit surprised at the change of roles, Dean goes with it, straddling the angel’s hips. The friction between their rubbing and the kissing pushes Dean faster to the edge. He pulls back from Castiel’s lips. “If we keep doing this, I’m going to make a mess all over everything,” Dean groans, each upward thrust from the angel a reminder of places Dean would rather have him buried instead.

“We can fix that,” replies Castiel, panting. Effortlessly, he lifts Dean off of him and pins him on his back. On all four, the angel kisses his way down from the man’s neck, teasing his nipples, making a pit stop just below his belly button. He slides his fingers under the waistband slowly, teasing. He kisses Dean’s right hip bone, then the left. He pulls his boxers only low enough to reveal the head of his cock. Gingerly, he kisses it. Delicately, barely touching the skin, he gives the man the whisper of a thrill. 

Dean growls at the contact, tossing his head back on the bed. “Cas, please…” he begs through clenched teeth, pushing his hips up, trying to get the angel to touch him more. 

Castiel closes his mouth around the head of Dean’s cock. For a moment, he doesn’t do anything else, building up the tension. Then, slowly he runs his tongue along the soft ridge. He then sucks the precum, letting the suction motion linger. Then, suddenly, he takes Dean’s length all in.

“Yes,” Dean hisses, his body jerking and his arms shooting out on the bed. He grips the blankets, digging his hands into the material, his knuckles going white with the effort to keep his hands off of Castiel. “I love your mouth on me, Cas…” he groans.

Castiel slowly moves his closed mouth up the shaft, his tongue pushing hard against Dean’s silky skin. His right-hand grips the man’s thigh, and his fingers dig into the skin. As he reaches the head, he opens his mouth and teases with his tongue. He lets go for a moment, just enough to wet his left thumb. He inserts Dean’s penis in his mouth again and starts teasing his anus with his thumb. He moves his head slowly up and down as his finger pushes against Dean’s opening.

“Dean! Cas!” Sam’s voice comes from below, “Where are you?” There is some shuffling around the lower floor and the sound of the door closing. “Hey, guys!?” Sam calls out again. 

“Cas,” he breathes, slightly panicked, looking at the angel servicing him, his body on edge and surprisingly close to release, even with this brother downstairs. He stifles a moan as he bites down hard on his bottom lip, his lust-filled gaze all for Castiel.

Castiel stands up on his knees.

“Shit!” he mouths at Dean. 

He looks around. There are no clothes in this room for them to wear, and if he goes down the stairs in his pants, there is no way this isn’t going to look suspicious. Not to mention that there is a dark wet spot where the tip of his erection is pushing against the light grey fabric. 

“I can’t teleport, Dean. My grace..” Castiel says, barely above a whisper. 

“It’s okay, Cas, I got this,” Dean rolls off the bed, almost falling as his knees give out, but catches himself on the bed. He grabs the blanket and wraps it around himself. “I’ll get our clothes and bring yours up to you.” He smiles at the angel, winking. 

Castiel jumps to his feet and grabs Dean’s arm before he can go anywhere. He pulls him close to him and crushes his lips against his, pushing his tongue inside the man’s mouth. Leaning in, he snakes his hand under the blanket and takes Dean’s shaft in his hand through his boxers. He tightens his grip slightly and pumps up and down.

“Cas?” Dean pulls away, gasping as the angel grips him. He puts his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, steadying himself, moaning with each stroke. He starts to thrust in his hand, “Sammy’s downstairs,” he whispers, begging at Castiel for his understanding. 

“Cas!?” Sam calls out again. There is a sound into the kitchen as things are moved around.

Castiel lets go of Dean but immediately takes his head in his hands and kisses him softly on the forehead, then on the lips.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers.

He then lets go of Dean and sits on the bed, hands clenching and unclenching on his knees, shifting that way and this way, trying to accommodate his erection.

“It’s okay, Cas. I just don’t want to embarrass you,” Dean takes another look at the angel, noticing his erection. “The things I want to do to you right now,” he whispers. “We’re going to have to find some personal time when we get back home, Cas,” he offers, turning on his heel, and he heads down the stairs. “Sammy!” He greets his brother, crossing the room and grabbing his clothes.

“Dean!” Sam exclaims, “What are you wearing?” He asks, noticing the blanket around his hips. “Where’s Cas?” His eyes narrow.

“Upstairs sleeping, our clothes were wet from the snow, so we had to dry them. I’m gonna take these up, I’ll be right back down,” Dean runs up the stairs, rejoining Castiel.

Castiel is still sitting on the bed when Dean re-emerges from downstairs. The angel gestures for Dean to get closer. Since he told Sam he was sleeping, he doesn’t want to make the floor creak by walking around.

“Dean! I’m uhhh… going to put some of this stuff in the car. Try not to take long… I want to get out of here before the snow comes back,” Sam mentions, making noises downstairs. 

Dean walks over to Castiel, standing right in front of him, Castiel’s clothes in his hand. “I brought your clothes,” he says low, as he holds them out to the angel. 

“You told him I was asleep??” whispers Castiel. “Won’t he think that is weird?”

Castiel stands up and takes off the sweatpants. His penis is still half erect, but there is no time for that now. He slips on his white boxers and tucks himself in the waistband, then puts on his shirt. The cold fabric gives him goosebumps, perking up his nipples.

Dean sucks in a quick breath as Castiel drops his pants and changes in front of him. “I honestly wasn’t thinking about that, Cas,” he swallows hard. Dean drops the blanket baring his clothed boner to the room. He unfurls his own pants, stepping into one leg, then the other. 

Castiel finishes dressing up and sits back on the bed.

“How do we make this look natural?” he whispers. 

His head suddenly snaps up, his blue eyes filled with mirth.

“Attack is the best defense. As soon as you go downstairs, pester Sam about getting lost and Crowley. I will follow you downstairs once you really get him talking. What do you think?

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dean finishes pulling his pants up, grunting as he tries to fit himself into the confining space. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses on his flannel shirt. Dean makes his way over to the top of the stairs, looking back at Castiel. “I had a really nice time with you, even with the trouble we had,” he smiles brightly at the angel. 

“Don’t make it sound like it’s the last time,” Castiel whispers, a little too loudly.

Dean’s smile gets bigger. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Cas,” he winks, headed down the stairs. 

Castiel sighs and lies back on the bed. He’s already studied all the ceilings’ details while Dean slept, but the sunlight gives a pleasant golden hue to the beams. He thinks about what is yet to come between Dean and him and smiles. 

Dean gets to the bottom of the stairs, and before he can say anything, Sam is on him, pulling him into the kitchen. “What’s going on, Dean?  _ Sleeping _ !?  _ Really _ !?” Sam accuses. 

Dean shakes his head, “He  _ looked _ like he was sleeping. Who knows what they do?” He chuckles. 

“Seriously, Dean… what happened here last night? There is glass over by the bathroom and blood on the floor, were you attacked?” Sam presses, his voice tinged with worry.

“Nothing like that, some accidents happened, and everything is okay now. Although I could ask you what the hell you were thinking, coming out here on your own and why you summoned Crowley. Which thank you for that…” Dean tries to assuage Sam’s worries. 

Sam just rolls his eyes, “It’s nothing…” he turns away from Dean, packing up the stuff he had in the cupboards. 

“Don’t play that game with me, Sammy,” Dean begins.

Hearing that an argument is well on its way, Castiel gets up and makes his way down the stairs. He decides to join in the interrogation. He still resents Crowley’s appearance.

“Sam. How nice of you to join us. A note would have been nice. Or maybe that was Crowley’s role?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam looks over his shoulder for a moment, then continues to pack up the things he brought to the cabin. 

“Sammy, he asked you something,” Dean says, walking over to Sam. “What was Crowley summoned here for? What kind of deal were you trying to make?” Dean asks, his voice starting to fill with anger.

“Dean! Stop, okay! It was a mistake to call him here. I didn’t intend to actually make a deal, but at the moment, I was desperate for help,” Sam finally relents. 

“You could have waited for us instead of dealing with him. Where did you go, anyway? It was the snowpocalypse out there!” Says Castiel, leaning against the fridge, thus framing the young Winchester between him and Dean.

“I had to go out,” Sam evades, looking over at Castiel. 

“Go out? Can you be any vaguer?” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “I think if you’re not making demon deals, you can be sure I’m not going to be mad at you for leaving. I just wish you would have called sooner,” Dean looks over at Castiel, thinking about all the things that happened since they got to the cabin. “We could have found something else to do instead of wasting time worrying about you.” He grins.

“Oh yeah? Like what? Exploring your sexuality?” Sam throws back, nodding at the condoms on the table, “It’s about damn time, you two.” Sam grins, looking from Castiel to Dean.

Castiel opens his mouth to talk, but no words come out. He can feel his face turn hot, and his ears burn. He throws a glance at Dean as if to say, “your brother, your move.”

_ I mean only if you’re comfortable, Cas,  _ Dean prays to Castiel, giving him a look of his own. 

Sam looks between the two men, he meant it as a joke, but the looks they’re exchanging gets him wondering if that’s actually what the two men were up to when he walked in. Sam shivers.

_ Probably not the time to have this conversation right now. Plus I’d like to enjoy you in secret a little longer, _ Castiel replies. He fights a smile.

_ In SECRET, Cas? Why? _ Dean can’t fight the blush that creeps up his neck and into his face. He bites his bottom lip slightly, then turns his gaze back to Sam. “No, Sam, NO! GOD, why do you always do that?!” Dean combats, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t know where they even came from,” he lies. 

“Ohhhhh- kay, well anyway, we need to get packed up, and on the road, there is another job we need to hit up before we can get back to the bunker,” Sam goes back to packing, working around Castiel.

“Okay, guys. Let’s get cracking then,” says Castiel. “Team free will 3.0!” he adds.

Dean looks at the angel, shaking his head. “Cas, don’t you mean 2.0?” He grabs up some of the boxes, setting them by the door. Going to the fireplace, he puts his coat on and turns, eyeing the condoms on the table.  _ I don’t really use them. Why would I start with Cas _ , he thinks, grinning wide. He blushes slightly, leaving them on the table, going to the door, and picking up the boxes again. He looks at the angel.

“I said exactly what I meant,” the angel replies with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That is it for Til My Heart Stops. It is so short and sweet and sometimes I wonder what more we could have done with it, but in the end, I am happy for what I got out of it. Thank you Tomoe2, for your friendship and this moment we shared. Stay tuned for more stories in the future!


End file.
